Boys' Night Out
by trufflemores
Summary: 4.05 AU. The bachelor party doesn't go according to plan, but it also doesn't end up at a strip club. Nope, Barry's bachelor party takes place at "the second most magical place on Earth:" Chuck E. Cheese. (Assume the strip club visit never happened.)


"You're gonna love this place. It's heaven on earth! Beautiful women wearing next-to- _nothing_ —"

"I will pay you one hundred dollars to take us somewhere that has greasy food and no strippers," Barry vetoes, rubbing his eyes. "I have a headache and I want my future wife, but since I can affect neither of those things: food, no strippers. Hundred bucks."

Ralph pauses and twirls on his heel. "On second thought, I have a _way cooler_ idea," he effuses, grabbing Barry's sleeve and hauling him into STAR's main elevator. "It's the second most magical place on Earth." Ralph punches in the lowest floor and Cisco and Wally scramble inside, Joe shouting from the Cortex, " _Hey!_ " as the doors shut behind him. 

_Sorry, Joe_ , Barry thinks, but talking is loud, and hurtful, and he kind of wants to fall asleep on the couch with his head on Joe's shoulder and call it a fun night out with the guys instead of being nice. Besides, Joe can't hear his apology from here.

"So, wait, do I get to keep these hundred beauties or spend them?" Ralph asks, bouncing on his feet.

"You can keep them," Barry grunts, leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, "if and _only_ if you stop talking."

"I graciously accept, good sir," Ralph says, fishing Barry's wallet out of his pocket and claiming his recompense. Barry lets him, Flashing it back when the elevator _pings_ and stops at the main level. "Oh, come on," he whines. "You really think I'm gonna cop out?"

"Yes," Barry and Cisco say in unison, and Barry drapes his arm around Cisco's shoulders, _thank you my guy_ inscribed in the squeeze he gives them. He'd be chill just crashing at Cisco's place with a couple of pizzas and a _Star Wars_ marathon before dropping into a sub-coma on the comfiest couch on Earth, but Ralph is bouncing ahead, eager to claim his prize, and Barry has no energy to stop him.

 _I just wanna go home_ , he doesn't whine, because he is twenty-nine-years-old and above whining, but Cisco radiates tired energy, too, and it rubs off on him. Letting Cisco go after a beat, afraid that their cumulative exhaustion will overcome any desire Barry has to be a good bachelor and attend his own bachelor's party, he jumps when Wally asks suddenly, "So, uh, where is the second most magical place on Earth?"

"I think it's bed, but I doubt that's what Mr. Elastic has in mind," Barry says, hands over his eyes. "Hoooly God."

The headache came out of _nowhere_ , too, and he'd ask somebody if it's normal to get crushing migraines as a speedster, but he also can't articulate the wild Speed Force energy still buzzing around his head, so he attributes it to that and moves on. His acceptance would work fine, sleep it off, but he's been putting off bachelor's night for six consecutive nights and Ralph has been racketing up the energy about it relentlessly.

 _One night,_ he tells himself soothingly. _You can survive four hours of interaction without dying_.

It doesn't seem possible, but he moans in gratitude when Ralph pulls up the STAR Labs' van. Cisco squawks over stolen keys while Ralph beeps the horn repeatedly, drowning him out. "All aboard, happy campers!" he crows.

"Dude's weird," Wally summarizes, and Barry says, "Yeah," without heat because he invited Ralph onto the team, Ralph is his weird dude to corral.

It takes enough time to put one foot in front of the other that Joe has a chance to catch up to them and claim the first row next to Wally. Barry clambers into the back row, stripping off his jacket and piling it against the window. Lying down, he pillows his head on it and sighs deeply. Heaven. _This_ is heaven.

He might actually pass out for a bit, because when he opens his eyes no time has passed but Ralph is pulling into a parking space and chiming in, "All right, boys. No strippers. The perfect Plan B for the low-key bachelor party awaits."

Barry opens an eye to look out the window and squints at the bright red sign in front of him, blinking uncomprehendingly. Reaching up to rub his eyes, certain he is seeing things, he finally asks, "Where are we?"

"Oh my God," is all Cisco says.

"The second most magical place on Earth," Wally fills in dryly, but he's opening the door with unexpected verve. "Never been. Always seemed kind of—"

"Don't say it," Cisco warns.

"—cheesy," Wally finishes.

Cisco shuts the doors and locks it, declaring, "I do not know you anymore."

"C'mon, dude, you're the one with the names, I thought you liked puns," Wally defends, tapping on the glass insistently. "You know I can just phase through this, right?"

Barry scrunches up his nose, eyes closed, aching to be forgotten. He'd be happy to be forgotten, actually, just sleep back here for the appointed four-hour period before feigning regret that he'd "missed out" on what would surely have been an amazing night. It's a little cold for his tastes, but Joe might even let him use his jacket as a blanket, and then it would be nice. He could live with that.

Sadly, it doesn't last, as Ralph hops out the front seat and insists, "Come on, campers, let's move, Papa's got a hundred bucks to redeem."

"Never let any of those words come out of your mouth again," Cisco groans, unlocking the door and stepping out with a great deal of fuss. Joe climbs out after him, stoically quiet.

He waits a beat before yelping when Ralph grabs his ankle and yanks hard. "I will drag you in there, I'm not above physical violence to get a bribe."

"All right," Barry grunts, sitting up and shimmying out, and he won't deny his voice sounds fussy but heck, he doesn't care. It's five-thirty-one PM, they are grown men, and they are going to Chuck E. Cheese for _his_ bachelor's party.

It's like stepping into a surrealist's painting, the whole world shrunk down to kid-sized, and Ralph keeps a hand on his sleeve like an overeager older brother, hauling him down the aisle to the attendant waiting to greet them. "Hi. How many?"

"Five," Ralph supplies, thrusting out a hand eagerly to be stamped. He forces Barry to extend his arm, and Barry closes his eyes in defeat when the attendant stamps his hand with blue ink, too.

"Any special occasion?" the attendant asks.

Still being mostly strong-armed by Ralph, Barry says without opening his eyes, "Nope," at the same instant Ralph says, "It's my buddy Bar's – can I call you Bar?" Barry nods wearily, whatever, "my buddy Bar's bachelor party."

"Oh." The attendant stamps Cisco's, Wally's, and Joe's hands. "Cool. We don't get too many of those." Then, with complete seriousness, he asks, "Would you like a crown?"

"No," Barry says forcefully, but Ralph insists, "He would" and gives his shoulders a fortifying shake.

Which is how he somehow ends up shoehorned in a booth at best big enough for four, sandwiched between Ralph on the end of the table and Cisco on the interior, Wally and Joe on the opposite side, a "Party Time!" paper _crown_ jauntily shoved onto his head by Ralph. And a complicit attendant, who presented it to Wally's barely suppressed laughter. "So, how many pizzas are we starting with? Ten?" Ralph snaps his fingers and Cisco reaches over and forcefully lowers his hand to the table. "Ten it is."

"I could go for pizza," Wally allows, cautiously enjoying himself.

Barry folds his arms and buries his face in them. "Wake me up in four hours," he grunts.

"Sure thing," Ralph says, whistling loudly before Cisco can stop him. A waitress arrives almost immediately and he asks in a voice that drips like a lollipop, "Hey, sweetheart, is there a limit to how many pizzas we can order?"

"How many were you thinking of ordering?" the waitress asks.

"Ten, to start," Ralph says.

"It'll take a couple hours," she warns, "but the first should only take about twenty minutes."

"Perfect, we'll be here," Ralph assures. "Cokes all around?" he asks with a jauntiness usually referred to ordering drinks with more zest than caffeine. "Cokes all around," he confirms when no one objects. Then, reaching into Barry's pocket for his wallet again, he fishes out five twenties and kisses them. "My lips have now touched these, these are mine," he tells Barry. "Mine. No take-backs."

"No take-backs," Barry repeats, because he just might fake his way through this night if he goes along with it humbly. He thinks he's already got a great start, given the child's crown pinned to his head. Sighing into his arms, he feels Cisco pat his back consolingly. The waitress returns and he rouses himself enough to reach up for the drink set in front of him. For added fun, there's a cap on it: a true kid's drink. Only the most authentic fun for this occasion.

Idly wondering if Iris is enjoying her fancy dinner with the girls, he pulls his glorified sippy cut into the circle of his arms and sips, head down. Joe finally regains the ability to speak, asking, "What exactly does one … _do_ here?" He sounds as discombobulated as Barry feels. It's reassuring. He's grateful that the volume is dull roar territory for a Monday evening, though he wouldn't object to "near-perfect silence" if offered.

"You play games and eat pizza," Ralph says with an audible shrug. "C'mon, you can't tell me none of you have ever been to Chuck E. Cheese." After a beat, he guffaws, " _None of you_ have ever been to Chuck E. Cheese?" Then, tutting, he insists, "Oh, come on, fellas, we gotta fix this." He hauls Barry forcibly upright, and Barry tries and fails to stay seated without creating a scene. "C'mon, bachelor boy, maybe you'll be our lucky charm."

"Never let any of _those_ words come out of your mouth again," Cisco orders, scooting out after them.

Wally springs out of his seat, but Joe assures cautiously, "I'll hold down the fort."

"Good idea – don't let any kids take our pizzas!" Ralph orders, hauling Barry off, Cisco and Wally trailing. Parking them in front of a kiosk, Ralph says unapologetically, "I need eighty more dollars."

Barry contemplates arguing before sighing in defeat. Eobard's endowed money has to go somewhere, and it almost makes Barry smile to think about how much he would steam if he knew his money was going _here_. The first twenty disappears into the machine and a card pops out. Ralph quickly secures each of them a card, explaining, "This is where the magic is at, boys. Use your points to get tickets, use your tickets to get candy that sticks to your teeth for a week."

"Wow," Cisco says dryly, turning over his card. "Can't believe how much I've missed out on."

"A lot," Ralph says seriously.

"So we just…" Wally swipes his card across a Skeeball aisle reader, and ten balls roll down the shoot. "Oh. Cool." Picking one up, he sizes up the field for a long time, sticking out his tongue a little before launching the ball up the ramp with great speed at the highest corner slot: it flies into it, the overhead score flicking from 000000 to 100000. "Neat," he remarks, pocketing ball number two with equal ease. Tickets pop out of the machine's dispenser, piling on in stacks as Wally sticks the landing eight more times. "This is kind of fun," he says, clearly trying to hide his enjoyment as he rips his tickets free from the machine. "So, now what?"

"Now? Now you go to town. You got nineteen more runs, pal," Ralph says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Have at it!"

Cisco gives it a shot and though his efforts are commendable, he only manages to stick about half the landings. "It's a misleadingly simple game," he protests when Wally just grins and continues folding his stack of tickets on the floor.

Their playful bickering eats up twenty minutes of time in a Flash, Barry's shoulders sinking in relief when he sees Joe munching on a slice of fresh dough at their table. Ralph, only somewhat discreetly using his flexibility to sink basketball after basketball into a hoop, doesn't miss him as he slinks back to the table and slides into the seat beside Joe, head on his shoulder. "You know, it's actually not terrible," Joe says, patting his head as he swallows down another bite of pizza. "The grease to crust ratio is heart-clogging."

Rumbling thoughtfully, a low Speed-purr that is more _I am exhausted please put me to bed_ than _that sounds fascinating and I want to know more_ , Barry reaches for his own slice and takes a bite. Flavor sparks pleasantly in his mouth, and he takes his time with the rest, even though chewing is hard, because damn if pizza doesn't taste good on an empty stomach. Fishing out two more slices, commending himself for his own ingenuity, he stacks the thin-crusts together and Flashes them both down. "Okay, I am maybe not mad at Ralph," he allows, already sliding a fourth slice from the box as Joe works on a second. "I'm undecided."

"Eat more," Joe suggests, and Barry obliges, finishing off the box for him and purring full-force.

"I like Ralph," he declares, with the same oomph reserved for announcing political loyalties, before their waitress returns with more pizza, and he stumbles off once she's gone to refill his drink.

Four Cokes and two-and-a-half pizzas later, he's sliding nonchalantly in a booth barely big enough for two alongside Cisco and Ralph, engaged in a fierce _Jurassic Park_ style battle with raptors, firing their tranquilizing guns at the screen. "So. What're we doing?" he asks them.

Cisco shoves his controller at him with a relieved, "Oh thank _God_ I can get pizza" and Barry's quick reflexes spare a quicker death at the hands of a lunging raptor, instantly sinking into the game.

Ralph goes through his card and swipes Barry's without missing a beat, and they take down an entire park's worth of prehistoric creatures before re-shelving their toy guns. "Today," Ralph announces gravely, "we became men."

Barry asks, "We got enough for another round?" but Ralph drags him out of the booth, insisting, "No, come on, check this out."

Wally, loaded with a king's ransom of tickets, has an accumulating pile exceeding four hundred tickets next to him, smiling sheepishly when they walk over. "Dude, what'd you do?" Barry asks, but it's clear from the circular jackpot machine that Wally hit the buzzer at exactly the right moment to win. Not hard with Speed reflexes, Barry reflects dryly, and when Ralph looks at him he sighs and swipes the card, watching the light go 'round and 'round the table, closing his eyes and opening them, slowing the world to a crawl.

It's effortlessly easy to hit the button when the light hits the jackpot bulb, and he considers messing up just to make Ralph go off, but then he realizes there is more pizza to be had if he wraps it up quickly and presses down the second it hits the jackpot. Only one hundred tickets dispense, to Ralph's tremendous disappointment. "Gotta let it reload," Wally advises, grinning, as he sweeps up his stack and carries it off.

Ralph helpfully converts Wally's stack of tickets into a single receipt with the staggering total "1250" printed on it. Shrugging modestly, Wally admits, "I hit the jackpot" and indicates another Speed-specific machine with a smile. "A few of times."

They regroup at the table with box number six of pizza, Barry's appetite only whetted by the time he and Wally devour three apiece, saving one for Cisco and one for Joe. Ralph simply talks and waves his hands, explaining things that Barry lets slip by his consciousness. Stomach filling and headache abating, he lets himself be hauled off with even less fuss as Ralph directs him to a firefighter simulation game.

They amuse themselves with the simple act of saving the world in miniature for six or seven swipes of Barry's card. Even though it's fake, the digitized screams of on-screen victims still tug on Barry's Flashy instincts, _run Barry run_ cycling through his head as he points his hose at the screen and fires, tamping down the merciless flames. Wally subs in for Ralph, and Cisco subs in for Wally, but Barry stays, start-to-finish, until at last the building, a staggering monstrosity of a thing, is quiet, and at peace.

"Nice job," Cisco says, holding out a fist for a bump, and Barry obliges, aware of the satisfied smile on his face that has no right to truly be there, it's just a _game_ , but it doesn't change the pleased feeling in his gut.

And if by pizza nine he's willing to post for pictures in a tiny photobooth with the entire gang, excluding Joe, he's fishing out another twenty to fill up his card by pizza ten. "Okay, okay, okay," he says, as they strive to best a simple ball game that neither Barry nor Wally's Speed, nor Cisco's eye, nor even Ralph's stretching, can best. The concept is simple – roll a ball down a ramp, try to slot it into the right gate over a series of increasingly demanding sequences – but it takes them to within an inch of their budget before they finally reach the finale. The second it slots in, they shout with unreserved delight, high-fiving all around as the machine delivers its biggest prize.

They cash in after that, opting not to test their luck, only to dish out even more of Eobard's hard-earned cash to take more photos, this time with Joe, insisting loudly, "Joe, Joe, come on, you have to be part of this, this is for _posterity_." Joe grumbles and reluctantly lets himself be planted in the booth, their efforts truly herculean to fit everybody in frame before the picture is taken. Arguing enthusiastically about how to do it, they freeze just in time for the half-second picture to be taken. And, miraculously, with the exception that only part of Ralph's head is in frame, they pull it off perfectly.

As promised, Ralph transforms their hard-earned tickets into slips with corresponding counts and those slips into candy that instantly cements itself to Barry's teeth. "This is worse than peanut butter," he says, fiddling with a toothpick to rescue his molars, but it makes little difference to the candy that cost ten points. Nonplussed about the 1500 remaining points (after cashing in for a handful of teeth-killing candy and a pack of Chucky-logoed cards), Ralph finally passes the rest off to the waitress and insists she gives it to a deserving kid.

"Well, boys," Ralph says, leaning forward conspiratorially as Barry and Joe play "War" with their cards, Cisco and Wally placing bets on who will win, "I'd say we've outdone ourselves."

They play a few more rounds until the clock approaches nine, and Barry startles when he realizes the floor has emptied, their table of raucous joy finally its own island. Departing with a generous tip, they pile back into the van, Joe driving, Ralph in the very back, Barry and Wally sharing the front row while Cisco rides shotgun.

Pleasantly buzzed off the experience, Barry forgets to think of a cooler excuse for how they spent the past four hours when Iris greets him at STAR with a relieved, "Hey, how was the party?"

"It was – normal," he assures, wrapping an arm around her waist and squeezing gently, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Very normal."

"Dude, you still have the crown," Cisco reminds, and Barry flushes scarlet as he reaches up to remove it.

"Aww, don't, it's cute," Iris teases, her own pink boa far more debonair by comparison. "I'm glad you had fun."

"Did you?" Barry asks, leaving the crown in place.

Iris sighs in that _so much fun_ way that really means _almost died,_ and he squeezes her again gently. "I missed you," she admits, leaning into him as they walk, and he lets her, rejuvenated and still _so_ ready for a long nap.

"I missed you, too," he adds sincerely.

And he lets her walk him home, falling into step beside her, aware and almost pleased by how ridiculous they must look, the king and queen of absurd bachelor/bachelorette parties.

But, hey, he thinks – drowsing with Iris on his chest in bed, freshened-up and pleased – maybe that's exactly what a good bachelor party is supposed to be like.


End file.
